


Colette's Hangover Cure

by Jayalaw



Category: Ratatouille (2007)
Genre: Deviation, F/M, Hangover, One of the what-ifs, Remy is in this but Colette never sees him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayalaw/pseuds/Jayalaw
Summary: What if Colette had beat Remy to the kitchen the morning after the sweetbread success? She notices the star chef asleep on the floor, and the kitchen is sparkling. Surely he didn't pull double-duty, while drunk.
Relationships: Alfredo Linguini/Colette Tatou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	Colette's Hangover Cure

The first thing she noticed was the smell of clean soap. Normally, there'd be some musty smells, because they ran out of garbage boys and dishwashers every few months. Some would have to leave due to family emergencies. 

Jealousy prickled at her. She knew that Linguini had gone against her orders, against all of the teachings. Yet his instinct had been right. It had led to multiple customers demanding his version of Sweetbread a la Gusteau, and Skinner inviting him into his office for a post-dinner chat. 

Linguini snored from where he had curled around a mop and a bucket. Beneath him, the kitchen tiles gleamed. So did the sinks. Th

Colette saw. She considered. This was odd. Linguini hadn't mopped a floor in weeks, and he only picked up dishes to put them in the sink. It was unlike him to be this proactive. Unless...

No. Skinner would not be this petty. Colette knew that the head chef could be bad-tempered at times, but that was standard for the business. She knew he didn't like Linguini. Yet he had invited Linguini into his office. 

There was only one way to find out. She wasn't sure if Linguini was going to like her doing this. Granted, she wasn't in this business to be liked. 

"Hey," she whispered softly, kneeling next to Linguini. "Wake up."

She was normally not this gentle. If it had been any other day, she would have gotten a cup of water and splashed it in his face. Something told her to go for the gentle route.

Linguini moaned. He didn't budge, however. Colette caught some mumbling and a faint scent of wine. From her nose, she identified it at Skinner’s favorite vintage from the 1920s, rated at several hundred thousand euros. Skinner had a collection, which he only broke out to celebrate. 

Well. She had tried. Colette went and got the nearest container, a stirring bowl. The sink faucet squeaked when she turned it. Water gushed out. It splashed on her fingers. She brought the bowl over. Then she considered. Colette cupped some water and splashed it on Linguini. Still nothing. 

"You may or may not deserve this," she muttered and emptied the bowl on his head. 

"AH!" Linguini shot up, eyes bloodshot and the dark circles more visible. "I'm awake! Station clear..."

"Linguini," Colette said. "It's me." 

"Oh." Linguini blinked at her. Then he raised his hands. "Gah! My head!"

Colette recognized the signs of a hangover. She had suffered a few in her younger days. It looked like Linguini and Skinner had imbibed in an expensive bottle of wine. 

"Next time hydrate when you are drinking that much," she advised him, handing him a towel. 

"I don't drink," Linguini muttered, not moving. "I told him I never drink."

"What happened?" Colette asked. He was still drenched. She held the towel, waiting. 

"I...I...." Linguini lifted a hand. "What time is it?"

"About eight in the morning," Colette informed him. 

Linguini tried pulling himself to a sitting position. The mop slid from under him, and he sprawled on the floor. Colette managed to grab the bucket and pull it away before it spilled dirty water. She slid it a few feet next to one of the nearby counters. The towel sailed in the air and landed on the floor.

"What did Skinner talk with you about?" Colette asked. 

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Colette narrowed her eyes. She had a tongue lashing for him, about this need for more hush hush. So typical from one of these men to have their secrets and forget who helped them-

"He asked me about rats," Linguini muttered. "Strangest thing. Not about little chef, but rats, over wine. Then he told me it was time to clean the kitchen. I cleaned." 

"He did what??!" Colette's jealousy vanished, as a new type of anger took over. "He made you pull double-duty as a chef and a garbage boy? After you made the night a success?"

"Uhhh... no shouting please," Linguini rubbed his head. "So bright, heavy lights."

Colette muttered a little curse under her breath. She couldn't believe the gall, the cruelty. The Skinner she knew would have given her some praise for how well the night went, and some tough love about not to rest on her laurels. He never "rewarded" the chefs with menial labor. it was still Linguini's job, but he had certainly proven himself well beyond mopping floors that night.

"Okay. Stay here," she said. "I'll get some water for you, and some pain relief." 

Linguini remained curled in a ball. He groaned as Colette went to rummage in one of the cupboards. They had a first-aid shelf for liability reasons. Even so, having a fresh supply of medical equipment did make the difference. Not all the chefs took headache medicine, but they liked having it on hand in case of a bad migraine. Colette grabbed the little bottle. It rattled, nearly full with pills. Perfect. That and a little bit of food would do the trick. Taking pills on an empty stomach was never good. A chef learned that the hard way. 

The tried and true method for fixing a hangover was cassoulet- a casserole with the best meat a person could buy. Even so, there was no time to make one; the customers would be coming and they had to start preparing for the lunch rush. There were, however, crackers, and some raw eggs. Those would do nicely. Colette took a box of unopened crackers, not caring about the expiration date. 

With the raw eggs, she whisked them in a little glass bowl. This hangover cure seemed to work back in her day. Some vinegar, salt and pepper; no hot sauce in the kitchen. They blended into a yellow substance. Perfect. This was the exact color. 

She knelt by Linguini. Colette could have sworn there were more shadows across his face. Nevertheless, she held the bowl to his lips.

"Drink this." 

He did as told. His cheeks bulged as if he wanted to spit it out. 

"Eugh! That's awful" Linguini said. 

"No talking with your mouth full," Colette said. "You are a high-end chef. Swallow." 

Gulping, and some shuddering. Linguini's toque stood more upright. His legs splayed out. Then he lurched upward. Colette jumped back at the sudden gesture. She ought to be used to it by now, but somehow she had expected Linguini to stay on the floor forever and they would need a crowbar to lift him out.

"Ahh, ow!" Linguini reached for the counter for some support. "Okay, vertical. Vertical. Careful, little chef." 

"You'll live," Colette gave him a few crackers on a plate, and some cheese. "Nibble on this."

He followed her instructions, hands shaking, and set the plate on the counter. Rather, his hands seemed to be fighting against the urge to eat a little. Colette eyed them. Maybe he suffered from tremors. If that happened, he needed treatment before his chef career got too far. That would explain last night why he was so clumsy at first when adding the new ingredients. Even so, the bloodshot in his eyes was disappearing. 

"I'm sorry about Skinner," she said. "What an ungrateful _botard_. I'm going to talk with him about how he treated you. Take two of those pills with this glass of water and you should be feeling right as rain in a few minutes."

"Thanks, Colette." Linguini nibbled at the crackers. "But I don't want you to get in trouble. Just having you here makes me feel better already."

"I did nothing," she told him with her usual brusqueness. "I should apologize for misjudging you. So many men would forget who taught them and just go brownnosing with Skinner. You didn't do that."

He had told her what had happened behind those closed doors, even though it had literally pained him to do so. Linguini swallowed the pills and seemed to gain more control over his hands. 

"But Colette, I would never do that," he said, his eyes open with wonder. "I'm a fraud. Skinner must think I'm a fraud. He's suspicious."

"You are not," she told him firmly. "Linguini, I do not give out praise lightly. You have talent."

"It's not me," he insisted. "I'm telling you I can't cook at all! And I wanted to listen to everything you said last night but I couldn't and I'm in love with you!"

That took her by surprise. Yes, men had hit on her before. She was in this sexist industry after all. Linguini was using it to justify being a good student, however, which was new. Maybe his head was hurting that badly. 

"There is no need to be this modest," she said. "Yes I could have let you drown, and Skinner would have you out on the street. But you have a gift with your mind, and your hands." 

To accentuate, she poked in the air towards him. His hands clasped over her outstretched finger. 

"Colette, I have to tell you, this isn't me," Linguini babbled. "I wish it was, and there is so much I want to tell you. Because I have a....a...."

"It's okay," she told him. "Wait for the pills to kick in; then you can tell me." 

He didn't let go of her hand though. Instead, it seemed that he was pulling her closer...but that couldn't be right, his own eyes were widening in surprise...

Linguini still tasted like wine and a hint of truffle oil from last night. Colette took a moment to taste. Then she leaned forward. They could deal with Skinner later. This was more important.


End file.
